Hunting Dance
by Arithanas
Summary: The pirates of Malaysia series - 1867, Borneo. Love is a force of Nature, incomprehensible to the human mind and has its own language. Surama know how to send a message stronger than any prejudice. DISCLAIMER: E. Salgari works are public domain.


**Hunting dance**

by Arithanas

Yanez de Gomera was not a young man, but he was far from the end of his life. He seemed to keep, despite the rigors of his adventurous life, a strange beauty; his tanned skin could not hide the regular features that betrayed his European origin; his muscles, developed by years at sea, were visible through the open cotton shirt, through which the sea breeze cools his body heated by the unrelenting sun of Borneo. His fingers played with a cigar, one of his seemingly endless reserve, his gray eyes were still watching the playful figure that pranced on the lower deck.

Surama had adapted well to life of the bloodthirsty tigers. The last ten years at sea had not ruined her appetite for life; The sound of the cannon had not ruined her ear for music and her eyes had not lost the spark, even after seeing dozens of men covered in blood. Surama was a strong woman in the frail body of a girl.

He knew that the ideas that crossed his mind was fully shared by her. The relationship they had established was more than gratitude for saving her from a life of virtual slavery as a dancer of the temple. Her voice poured affection whenever she called him 'white _sahib_' and the smile on her lips was more real than the sun, the breeze and the sea, all together. But that was not enough to erase the fact that there were twenty years difference between them.

While the Portuguese walked the poop, flaunting indifference and consuming his cigar, the girl danced, _ghunghroo_ jingling on her ankles, as she did when she was happy. The sailors smiled at the sight that she gave them, as would an older brother to a little sister's antics, everyone knew the Tiger of Malaysia protected her as his own daughter. In either praos or sloops, Surama was sure, since any tiger would kill to defend her.

Surama was from Assam, her skin was clear, with the color of a little coffee dissolved in a lot of milk; her regular features were not without grace and his eyes were very dark and deep, sweet doe eyes, within them the girl held the secret of the unknown, the promise of the exotic. When she appeared in front of the savage crew, she picked up her hair to her neck, but Yanez remember how her hair looked, loose and covered with flowers, that night they rescued her.

Yanez noted that the dress she had made with some pieces of silk found in Mompracem was too light, so her body forms were framed by a bright cloud of silk, the _choli_ and _churidar_ kept her modesty but the vision left little to the imagination.

She must have noticed the weight of his gaze, because she stopped and lifted her face toward him, her face lit up with the big smile she gave him, she used her fingers to remove some strands of hair from his face before make him a sign to come down to where she was. Smiling, Yanez decided to give her that pleasure and directed his steps towards the stairs.

Surama clapped her hands as a happy child, putting her body in motion and approaching him with hops that made sound the bells on their ankles, stretched out her hand and waved, inviting him to come. Her shoulders waved and gave the illusion that her head moved from side to side. Such movement was almost hypnotic, like a cobra trying to convince a mouse to get caught, maybe like a mongoose getting ready to attack. Yanez was not a man to be frightened by it, but some nice unrest was brewing inside him.

The woman stepped forward, always rattling, swaying her hips as if to prepare a leap, catching reflections in the jewelry she had taken Mompracem treasure to adorn her body. The sparkles of his bracelets attracted his attention, diverting his eyes to her chest, firmly secured by the garment, the curve of her breasts was a pleasant distraction.

The girl's hands, used to tell complete stories, were presented before european eyes. Intricate patterns, made with henna, seemed made to highlight the delicacy of her fingers, the gentle curve of the wrist. Beautiful little hands that he would have liked to kiss, but she withdrew them too soon. With well measured movements, she turned and cocked her head, looking sideways with eyes in which shone the feminine wisdom, full of mysteries about life.

The cloud of perfume that surrounded her was all sandalwood and jasmine, but it could not hide the smell of her firm flesh, the natural essence of her body. To distract himself, Yanez passed the cigarette across his mouth, but that did not keep his mind from trying to figure out what was her true fragrance. Surama went on dancing around, holding down her mischievous black eyes.

Yanez reached out, trying to touch the bare waist that he guessed between the folds of silk. Without losing her smile, she left him with a graceful leap to one side, her feet beat an exotic rhythm in the tables of the vessel. The tigers left their work to witness this ritual as old as time, in which no one could know who was the prey and who is the hunter.

This strange dance in which he was lost, because he only recognized as music that had rhythm, lasted some minutes; accelerating when Surama tried to get away from him, slowing down as she tried to lure him back. The arms of the women were more sophisticated than his, he must admit it. Sound, fragrance and movement kept his composure on edge.

It is always easier for the viewer to realize what is happening. This case was no exception. The tigers were bloodthirsty warriors of a thousand battles, at sea and on land. They were faithful to the White Tiger, which they loved as their chief, but they were not impervious to comedy. She seemed to make of him whatever she wanted, and he seemed happy of being carried away. These savage pirates began to laugh in a low voice and smile, they were sure that in this battle there would be two winners.

The sound of laughter ended with Yanez's patience, he was phlegmatic, but everything has a limit in the world. He dropped the cigarette on the deck and extended both hands to restrain Surama over her gold metal bracelets, rotating about herself, forcing her to look him.

"You have to be mine," he muttered, his voice choked with emotion.

"White _sahib_, I am yours," she replied, in her face there was no trace of fear nor surprise. "I've always been yours."

Asking a man to remain unmoved at such statement was too much. Yanez drew her to his chest and approached his lips to that smiling mouth, thinking that where there is will, everything is possible. The slender arms of Surama, still caught by the hands of the Portuguese, extended and surrounded his waist, she was happy to surrender herself to the man of her choice.


End file.
